


Smoke above the Hills

by orphan_account



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Human K-2SO, Hurt, No Space, Rogue Friendships, Sceptical Jyn, Sniper Cassian, Spanish Civil War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:03:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Autumn had finally come to the valley, mist lingered over the river which would cover his infiltration mission next week. With luck they had a few weeks left till the roads would be blocked by snow. Before that they needed solid information about the foe’s troop movements. His fag had turned into a butt by the time the camp awoke. Andor left his hideout and headed for his tent to bury the box of cigarettes underneath his pillow. He loved his comrades, but he would never share his best cigarettes with them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosly inspired by the events during the Spanish Civil War from 1936 to 1939. It’s not meant to be accurate in the details. Instead, it is a deep bow to Eric Arthur Blair aka George Orwell and his “Homage to Catalonia”. 
> 
> All villages and most characters as well as their actions are completely fictional.

Rookie

Captain Andor was tired. His nightshift at the watchtower had ended as boring as it had started, but only the discipline of guard shifts and meal schedules set his bunch of rebels apart from a thieving band of thugs. He lighted a cigarette – a good one from Barcelona that actually had some tobacco within the paper. His throat was sore from this morning habit and he coughed like an old man. The sun crept above the roofs of Llevia and the captain released a mouthful of smoke into the morning skies. In the distance dawn spread the first rays of sunlight through the arcs of the railway bridge. As a boy he had watched it grow toward the clouds. He had liked listening to the first train in the morning that had passed through the mountains on its way from Madrid to Barcelona. He had imagined the businessmen with their posh suitcases and fancy suits inside while he had been chewing on blades of grass herding goats. Now each train from Madrid meant new weapons had arrived in the enemy’s camp. More bullets that could riddle his crew.  
Autumn had finally come to the valley, mist lingered over the river which would cover his infiltration mission next week. With luck they had a few weeks left till the roads would be blocked by snow. Before that they needed solid information about the foe’s troop movements. His fag had turned into a butt by the time the camp awoke. Andor left his hideout and headed for his tent to bury the box of cigarettes underneath his pillow. He loved his comrades, but he would never share his best cigarettes with them.

“Capitán, we’ve just got rookies”, shouted a familiar voice from behind the tarpaulin. Rookies – an English word the Spanish used to refer to their fellow soldiers from all over the world that freshly arrived in the mountains around Teruel. Kay once had been a nameless rookie himself, but Andor had raised him to be a good and effective soldier. Now he was his right hand and his voice if given orders were too complicated to translate them into English with Andor’s limited vocabulary. Their ranks were made up of Spanish locals like Andor and the International Brigades that consisted of Socialists from central Europe, the US, as well as the Soviet Union. In the captain’s corps there were mostly Spanish and English fighters which had the advantage they spoke just two languages in their unit. The captain still hated it – in the oppression his village had suffered nobody had felt the urge to educate a famer’s son in foreign languages. What he knew, he had picked up along the way.  
Kay repeated his sentence and Andor sighed. At last, he left his tent. In the past week they had suffered major casualties and fresh blood was desperately needed. The captain called the rookies just that. With most of them he would spend so little time he did not bother to learn their names. Many would be injured or would get themselves killed in a reckless, stupid attempt to win the war single-handedly in a couple of days. So, Andor’s expectations were cautious, he had dug a lot of graves already. Nonetheless, he made his men form a line to salute their new brothers in arms. The captain’s eyes widened as he saw the vehicle the newcomers had arrived in. It was a van, not horses or a mule. It was a real car with a working engine. The captain smiled pleased for the first time in a long while. The recruits that accompanied the van seemed almost insignificant in comparison. There were four of them. Rookie one was pale and young, a baby face. Hopefully he had more experience with a rifle than with the razor blade. The second man, rookie two, looked nervously from the left to the right. Little stubbles claimed stubbornly he was a grown man and yet he quivered like a frightened child. He even saluted without an apparent reason as Andor stepped in front of him. His military rank was barely visible on his worn out uniform jacket, but it still made the man shiver. “Que Dios nos ayude”, whispered Andor to a God he had stopped believing in. Kay chuckled all the same. It made his freckles and the blonde hair dance that towered about a foot over Andor’s black, uncombed strands. “Relax, buddy. You’re among friends”, muttered the recruit next to the trembling boy. American, decided Andor pondering the man’s accent. The forth rookie was as pale as the first. The second man was still shaking when Andor had finished the welcoming ceremony. It got on Andor’s nerves and he decided to talk to the boy in private to see if he was of any use. He tried to recall the name the American had used. “Tu, Bodi, ven conmigo, with me. Come!”, ordered the captain and beside him Kay smirked. Andor was not quite sure what he laughed at, but he had to get this over with. So, he left with rookie two at his heels.

As soon as they had entered his tent, the shaky boy shed his skin. Underneath hid still a scared man, but he spoke perfect Spanish. He was half Basque. Gernika made him join the cause – German Nazis had bombed the Basque city into oblivion in April that year. At some point Andor decided he liked the boy although he did not know how to shoot. Instead, he could drive – that was something Andor would be able to build onto. “Do you swear on the ashes of the Republic that you’re Capitán Cassian Andor, Sir?”, the recruit asked in Spanish. “Why? Nobody’s made me swear any oaths so far. So why start now?” “I was entrusted with delivering sensitive intel to this captain, Sir”, the rookie replied, and despite his trembling frame he said it with a firm voice. Andor just gave him a reassuring nod and the man continued. “Franco’s army harboured a great number of explosives in Jímena before they fell back. High Command has reason to believe they left it behind. HQ want you to make contact with Saúl Guerrera’s forces and convince him to blow up the bridge in the valley. This could slow the advance of General Varela. Maybe he’s forced to winter in Madrid.” That name gave Andor cold chills. Varela was one of Franco’s most deadly soldiers. He had a fearsome reputation for slaughtering soldiers and civilians alike. His conquest of Toledo in 1936 had been nothing less than a bloodbath. On the other hand, Saúl Guerrera, though official on the rebels’ side, was not much better. To cooperate with him was not exactly on Andor’s wish list. While Andor was weighing his non-options, the rookie put a soft smile on his face. “By the way, my name is Benin, but, I like “Buddy” just as much. I always wanted to be everybody’s friend.” Andor got the hint and promised himself to verbally beat up Kay for leaving him in the dark. “It’s Bodi then”, Andor said and chuckled amused at himself. “Indeed, Capitán.”  
Right as they turned to join the others outside, a rumble growled through the ground. Andor ran out of the tent and scanned the sky. Behind the mountains to the south a smoke plume rose up the sky. Jímena. “Mierda,” he swore. Maybe Guerrera had used the explosives on something else already. Andor had a bad feeling about this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been Saúl who had shown Jyn how to survive. You only give when you get something in return. Idealism will never feed you or care for you, it only digs your grave.

Girl with a Gun

Combing through medieval lanes, she could watch her breath leaving her lungs transforming into mist. She was shaking from the cold. Nonetheless, the rifle was glued to her shoulder, almost a part of a body, and it kept a steady aim. Saúl and the half of their squad were engaging from the south. Jímena was not a big town and the tower of the old Cathedral gave a perfect view over the roofs. Saúl would position his best snipers up there, snipers without the proper guns.  
Jyn was the sniper of her group. She and her squad had sneaked in from the northern main road and had used every rooftop to secure the outskirts, but now in town they needed to arrive at rendezvous point as fast as possible. She leaned back against the wall of one of the brick builidngs before taking the next corner. Then, she listened carefully. A few cats and dogs had already crossed her path, however, the remaining inhabitants of Jímena chose to stay indoors. Jyn deemed it a wise choice. She looked up and found all the windows closed or even boarded up. Beside her own breathing, it was utterly silent. Time to move. The street she entered next was empty as expected and further down the paving she got a good glance at the impressive belfry. It still stood undamaged despite the war that tore apart the city at its feet. Jyn drew nearer not letting down her guard.  
Finally, two crossroads from the central square, she saw people rushing in the shadows. It was a woman with two children, the younger one still a toddler. They were in a hurry to hide and Jyn had no difficulties to follow them unseen to their shelter. The three civilians entered the Cathedral through a back door and Jyn became aware she was not the only one at their heels. Another rifle and an arm stuck out a wall across the road of the entrance of the church. It was none of her companions, she could tell even from the distance what the colours of this uniform sleeve meant. Franco’s men were not gone. Not all of them at least. Jyn stepped back and merged with her surroundings as Saúl had taught her. In the corner of her eye she noticed two other creatures, hooded and in frocks. They disappeared into a door. While she was still watching them, she heard a hiss and then a rattle. Something had moved in the air, but before Jyn could waste another thought on the topic all went up in flames. Hand grenade, she figured while her whole body was flying backwards. The ground shook and her mind went black.  
As she awoke, she was deaf for a bit. Later her ears rang and all sounds from around came in muffled. She knew immediately something was wrong. When she looked up to the winter sky, her view was just blocked by smoke, not by buildings. Looking back down the Cathedral was gone. A pile of ash and scattered stones was all that remained. Some blocks had flown right to her feet and she could consider herself lucky she was not buried underneath them. The woman and the children were dead. Three corpses more no one wound mourn. Most likely, the hand grenade had hit a depot of explosives which subsequently caused a blast that had brought the Cathedral crumbling down. Jyn gathered her senses and tried to stumble into hiding as the two men from earlier came out of the ruins they had taken shelter in. One was tall and the other lanky. Her body was sore, her legs lame, and she fell right into their arms. “Está bien, hermanita.” Her exhaustion made it even more difficult to understand their words, but what harm would come from monks who called her “little sister”?

When Jyn opened her eyes again, Jímena had disappeared. She had been moved. The two men were still there calmly watching her from a few steps away. She stared back like a wounded animal taking in her surroundings. It was Saúl’s camp, they had brought her home. Saúl and his men had settled around a bonfire talking to four strangers. She could not hear their discussion from the distance, so she concentred on her new companions. Their faces were not European, and their frocks did not give a hint where they came from. The whole world seemed to worship one God or another. Jyn had never understood that. She had, a long time ago, believed in her parents. Her father the scientist and her mother the writer. Both childish interpretations of a harsher reality. Now she had left her delusions behind and gazed with the proper amount of scepticism at the two monks next to her. One was blind, she figured as she saw his milky eyes. The silence was broken when he started to speak, “I am Chirrut and this is Baze, my set of eyes.” She stared at the odd couple for another second and then barked back. “And that one’s mute, or what?” It was only then that she realized he was speaking English. “He is not, but mostly I do the talking”, Chirrut replied and smiled mildly. It gave her cold shivers. His church had just blown up, how could he be so calm? And where had they come from in the first place?

Jyn got up to leave the thought behind. Instead, she approached the campfire. Her legs told her to sit down again. She had suffered a few bruises and she knew she could use a good night’s sleep, but the strangers Saúl was debating with were too intriguing a bait to stay away from them. She took a seat at the outer circle of listeners to avoid too much attention. Being the only woman in a squad of male fighters was bad enough as it was. They were speaking Spanish and Jyn tried her best to follow the conversation.  
“You’re telling me not all the explosives were in the Cathedral?”, a blond man in his thirties asked. He seemed to be the leader of the strangers. “No, we secured a good portion before the whole place blew up”, Saúl answered. “I still cannot see what is in there for me and my men. Why should we give away our booty and help you carry out your God damn planes?” “We are all on the same side”, the other man claimed. His Spanish was flawless, but he was clearly a foreigner same as Jyn. British most likely. It did not bother them that a foreigner commanded a full squad, this war had killed the best men long ago, and second choices filled the gaps they had left. His words, however, were meaningless. The rebels who fought Franco’s army were not an organized lot anymore. They were mercenaries selling off their skills. Jyn’s mother had trusted the power of words, and she had got shot in the aftermath of Russian Revolution. Her father had believed in the laws of nature and ended up producing the casing of mustard gas in the Great War for the Royal Army. It had been Saúl who had shown Jyn how to survive. You only give when you get something in return. Idealism will never feed you or care for you, it only digs your grave. Saúl was determined to beat Franco, but he had a price and no second thoughts.  
“What's your offer, Capitán?”, Saúl wanted to know. The foreigner looked to his fellow soldiers who knelt beside him. One had listened very closely, eyes sharp, his mouth a thin line. He was a local without a doubt and had thick, dark curls on the top of his head. He just stared back at his captain. The next stranger was a little taller. He seemed to be intimidated by the whole situation, another foreigner, but his tanned skin blended in nicely. His eyes had searched the camp and his fingers were digging little trenches in his coat. Finally, the captain was locking eyes with his last recruit who sat cross-legged to his right. That one seemed to be more concerned with his gun than anything else. He was cleaning it. Others might call it dumb, but Jyn was aware how important a well-maintained weapon was. The man was Spanish too, but his face was dirty, as were his clothes. He looked as worn as his jacket. His only reaction to his superior was a tiny nod.  
“We’ve got a vehicle. It’s yours if you give us the explosives and help us to blow up the bridge.” Tempting, Jyn knew how fiercely Saúl craved for a working truck to move their supplies more effectively. “How many men can it carry?” “It depends on how well you stagger”, the blond man said with a smirk. “So, we’ve got a bargain, I take it?” “You bring the vehicle here, show me it’s working properly, in return you get enough explosives to send that bridge to hell. None of my men will take part in it though.” “No.” “Then, there’ll be no deal.” The four visitors put their heads together to discuss their options. Saúl had never been patient in negotiations. Time was running out.  
“Your best marksman against mine. See that ruin over there? Whose man hits the chimney first wins.” Saúl’s men started to murmur. The squad had a certain sense of honour that demanded to never shy away from a challenge like that. Jyn knew that and so did Saúl. That is why he agreed, not too happy about it. While she was contemplating whom of the strangers the captain would choose, Saúl sat down next to her. “You’re well enough to give it a shot?” Her senses were sharp again and her legs would support her weight, so she nodded. She was the best gunner among them, they all knew and respected that. Jyn got on her feet and shouldered the rifle Saúl had handed to her. On the other side of the bonfire, the man who had been busy with his weapon all along stood up as well. He was lanky from head to toe. His blond captain grinned broadly. “You send a girl into battle?” “Offended?”, spat Jyn. “No, the chances for you to win were zero right from the beginning. Not because you’re a girl, just because my man’s better.” The smirk had disappeared while he had been speaking. Now he just looked confident about his proclamation. “You first”, he added.  
That was enough of an invitation. The chimney was painted in white and the plaster would crack from the wall with every blast. She looked to Saúl who had grabbed his binoculars to watch properly. As he nodded, she fixed the target, aimed and shot in a fluent movement. The tiny plumes of paint were visible from the distance. Her opponent sighed in response, and in a blink of an eye his gun fired as well. There was no second chunk ripped from the chimney walls. Nonetheless, Saúl put down his binoculars in resignation. Jyn had won – only she had not. The sniper next to her had managed to hit the exact same spot as she had. Bastard. His blond captain had not moved an inch, but his arrogant stare talked almost audibly back: “Told you so.” The marksman just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes brown and full of concentration. He was good, maybe he had a better weapon, or he was even better than her. She decided to smile at him in appreciation of his skill. As he returned the gesture, only tiny parts of his mouth twitched upward, and his eyes did not give away the faintest hint of what their owner really thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Not a native speaker (neither English nor Spanish). All the errors are mine. Apologies.


End file.
